Hi there! How was the rest of your weekend? [Pause for chatter] Oh. Wow. You know, I’m actually relieved that you said that. I’m so glad you’ve finally admitted to yourself that you are an overeater of tacos. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it’s finally safe for me to tell you this: You weren’t fooling anyone anyway. Case in point: I watched you Friday at Tom’s titanic taco party and I have to say that it was disgusting what you did there with the sour cream and the M&Ms and the mustard. [Listening] Really? Me talking about this stuff isn’t helping you beat your addiction? Well, I have to retort—and this is the last I’ll say on the matter, promise—that gleefully stuffing your Gulden’s-and-chocolate-smeared piehole with free tacos won’t help you beat your addiction, either. You know what I mean? [More listening] I’m glad you agree. Anyway, I wish you much luck, my man. Can I just ask you something, though? Mustard? What the fuck is your problem?


I thought I’d set my alarm for 8:30am, but apparently I did not. There is nothing worse than an unintentional 6:30am rousing.